A Stranger to Myself (a poem)

I am a stranger to myself
My face in the mirror is not recognizable
Shadows peering from the corner
Cover my countenance

Alienation, deep and bitter
An outsider to the process of life
On the summer-soaked beach of eternity
Split off from my subconscious

Ghostwalker, the sun is a fickle mistress
And the Egyptians were right to fear
The ultimate power of the Sun God
Who takes no prisoners

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Down in the Well (a poem)

At the bottom of the well, the air is damp and

it’s so dark I barely see my hands.

Down here, I move through my memory without

interference from the above-ground world –

I think so clearly that I travel through walls and

jump into dreams and hop back out.

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